


Anathema

by CrystallizedInsomniac



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aromantic Character, Developing Relationship, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallizedInsomniac/pseuds/CrystallizedInsomniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You want me to bend the rules, I know." You level her a cold gaze, "and I said no. I'm not going to do it. Accept it, this timeline's dead and <i>we're</i> just not meant to be the ones to win the game."</p><p>The fact that she has to blink a couple of times, words working themselves out in her brain is somewhat infuriating. What part of 'no' doesn't she get?</p><p>        "You're joking right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anathema

**Author's Note:**

> Well I haven't done a Homestuck reader insert in a long time. Here's something I did instead of studying for finals.

It's a hand on your shoulder that snaps you out of your... thoughts. 

 

They're not really thoughts, more like flashbacks. Flashbacks that are annoyingly bright and painful to look at, despite the fact that you're not able to stare at them long enough to decipher them — and you don't think you actually want to anyways. There's a hand, blood, screams and bright lights, flashes of a familiar face that contours into an ugly emotion you are not able to recall because it is gone. Then there's darkness, and then a light — so, in reality? Not missing much. 

  
  
You're awfully proud you are able to register the soft material of cloth, long cold fingers gripping into your godtier pajamas. Though, those types of things are useless and meaningless, so it's a waste of time you think, that those are the first images that your brain gives you. Your body, on the other hand, is already moving in a mechanical way. You're grabbing, twisting and pinning. Up until the point where you're fully facing the intruder and then they have the gall to pull you in closer.

  
  
You're met with a face full of black clothing — Bodysuit, your brain supplies — and then you blink. Because you are not and probably will not be, able to take a step back, you decide to crane your neck up so you can see who's holding you. The fact that the motherfucker is tall is grating. The fact that they're not even  _trying_  to hold you — because you're strong, stronger than your group of... your group. Yet, they're simply grabbing you by the wrist, in what to you is fierce grip but even you can tell that behind those gloves, the hand is not even showing any signs of strain — down with all of their force it's what gives it away.

  
  
It's a troll. 

  
  
If you're already sorting through a mental list of potential grey-skinned aliens you might have pissed off in the last couple of days, or weeks. Then you don't pay much attention. Your mouth has certainly gotten you in a lot of trouble. Doesn't mean it hasn't gotten you  _out_  of trouble before.

  
  
        "See, I don't know about your bunch, but on Earth, there's this thing called  _personal space_  and  _you_  buddy—" You press one manicured finger into their chest, "are violating mine. So, how about you let me go and I don't say anything to my—  _companions._ "

  
  
When you don't receive a reply — which you are alluding to the fact that the troll's brain has malfunctioned due to your attitude, who could stand you anyways? — and the seconds tick by, and you finally feel the grip lessening  _then_  you take a step back and look up at the, by far, tallest troll to date. 

  
  
You scowl. Of course he's not talking. His mouth is sewn shut. Great. 

  
  
        "Alright." You shift on your spot, not hiding the way your [eye color] eyes trail from the purple boots to the long legs — with bones painted on them,  _bones_. — to the purple shorts, leaving way to the top part of the bodysuit. More bones and then some neck. There's a head full of really long and extremely big and curly mass of black hair, giving way to some way taller horns, they curve near the middle. Sorta of like a goat's. You're really tempted to make a joke about riding them. 

  
  
His face is hidden behind white face paint — though you know that behind it there's simply grey skin, nothing new. Boring. —, the same milky-white as his eyes. Thin nose, and sharp eyes. The strings on his mouth are the same black as his hair and the bodysuit. And he's smiling, you tilt your head to look at it, sort of expecting to see some blood run down his lips, staining his face paint, but there's none of that. Just smiling.

  
  
It unnerves you a bit. You don't realize you've taken a step back up until he takes another forward, there's a flicker of  _something_  in his vacant eyes and you really don't want to find out what it is. 

  
  
        "Look, I don't want any trouble. I—" You look behind, just a second to see if you could escape without resorting to fighting, and then you look back. Words die out on your mouth before you're even able to spill them. He's taken a step forward and doing some weird signs with his hands.

  
  
You watch as he keeps moving his long fingers in rapid movements. You frown. "I'm sorry, are you— are you talking to me?" You turn to look behind you once more, maybe he's making signs to someone behind you. As luck has it, there's not a single soul behind you. Reluctantly you face his way again and you notice that he's stopped.

  
Then, he starts once more. Although now it's slower, you stare at his hands and blink. Oh. OH.

  
  
        " _Fuck_. Look man, I can't understan—"

  
        "Kurloz, please stop that. They don't understand sign language, and I'm fairly sure you're just doing it on purpose now." There is another voice, a ring of amusement in their scolding tone. 

  
  
You don't even bother looking behind your shoulder, simply watch as the troll — Kurloz, now —  halts in what he's doing. Sign language for fuck's sakes, it's already embarrassing enough you don't know how to understand it, let alone recognize it. Then, his eyes — you are still not able to understand how it's possible — flicker between you and the person behind you, before there's something akin to amusement in his orbs. He starts signing away rapidly, much more than when he first encountered you, and there's a smile threatening to pull upwards at his lips, just the faintest tug.

  
When the troll — You'll be assuming is a troll — behind you lets out a muffled laugh, you have the sour feeling that they're talking about you. 

  
  
        "I do believe you have a moirail that's looking for you." The voice says after Kurloz signs some things, then he halts and the troll behind you takes this opportunity to speak once more. "Cronus is being awfully exasperating." 

  
  
Apparently, this Cronus — whoever they are — is someone that either causes a bad or good impression on people by simply being around. That is until you catch sight of Kurloz's face taking a darker tone and then you catalog a 'Cronus' as bad and under the 'not to meet' list that you have. Before Kurloz leaves though, he gives you one last look and a wave. You find yourself mimicking his actions, and then he leaves.

  
  
Good. Now you just need to walk away and—

  
  
        "Are you new around here?" The voice asks and you try very,  _very_  hard to not sigh out loud.

  
  
Because you are not in the mood to hold any more conversations, especially with a troll, you simply begin walking away. You're sort of expecting the troll to not say anything, though by the looks of it you aren't going to have such luck.

  
        "Hey! I  _asked_  you a question! Don't go away, that's just plain rude." He walks after you, his voice taking another tone, annoyed. Your lips tug downwards.

  
  
        "Well guess what,  _I'm_  not obligated to answer it." You scoff and halt when he lays a hand on your shoulder.

  
  
The moment you spin around and push the hand off of your shoulder, your brain recognizes two aspects from the troll — and well, you are right, it  _is_  a troll — which are pretty recognizable. First of all, the bright red sweater he sports and second, the nubby horns.

  
  
        " _Karkat._ " You sneer.

  
  
        "Excuse m-" and then you punch him square in the nose.  
  


### 

 

  
  
The satisfying crunch that elicited that punch didn't last long when you realize that it's not Karkat. Karkat never wears red, specially not _that_  bright.   


### 

 

  
See, the problem is, that you don't do big groups of people.

  
  
Well, atleast, you decide that you don't do them when it goes from sixteen teenagers to five in a blink of an eye. Who knew that a Time player going rouge would be one of the biggest problems. And that's actually saying something, because as luck has it. It didn't take long for your group of players to realize that the timeline they were playing — and therefore you, by extension — was not the Alpha timeline. The fact that the First Guardian had never been created was the biggest hint at it, too bad everyone had been waiting for some type miracle to work. Which sucks really. 

  
  
When the first week had gone by — or what, you guys could call a week because time simply  _isn't_  but  _is_  in SBURB — and your time player had still to return, then you guys just started to give up. There was no point in dwelling or waiting for a team player that was not and will not come back to the failing timelines, and you can't blame the sonofabitch. Hell, if  _you_  were the only time player in the group of ungrateful brats who you teamed up with for shits and giggles and had the ability to just nope the fuck out of the situation and settle yourself in a timeline destined to win, then well, no one needs to know that. For some reason they planted the idea that you were a pure-hearted person.

  
  
Ha fucking  _ha_.

  
  
You can't say you're surprised that the third day after waiting for the time player to come back, you're approached by the girl who was named leader. — mainly because no one wanted to bother with that responsibility — Frail looking thing, a Mage of Hope of all things. It's not a sudden development, hell, you had been waiting for it. She finds you in your home planet, she comes and talks and tries to get on your good side. Then, she starts to drop hints here and there,  _I'm sure you'll be able to fix something, How hard could it be?, Once Dylan comes back you two can work together to fix this mess_ ,  _You can obviously do it! You're really powerful, think about all the things you could do!, Remember that time you saved all of our butts back when,_ and so on and on and  _on_. 

  
It had made you sick. Being a Witch of Doom had it's reaping benefits, and you made sure to take advantages of them as soon as you got your powers and ascended to Godtier. The fact that such powers came with a responsibility? Well, not everything can be handed in a golden plate — though, if it were up to you it  _could_  be handed to you in a diamond encrusted plate. SBURB, in short words, was your bitch. 

  
And the thing is, despite the fact that you could be able to willingly manipulate whatever stupid rules the game had set out. Despite the fact that the offer was tempting — because, how far _could_  you go with your powers? — and maybe, seeking admiration from others by saving their asses before Paradox Space even decided to erase all of you guy's pitiful's experiences was a  _really_ tempting offer. You already had your answer long before she even set foot on your planet.

  
  
        "No." 

  
  
The look on her face is pure gold.

  
  
        "No? I—" She frowns, and there's something in her eyes resembling fear. "[Name], I don't think you understand. We—"

  
  
        "You want me to bend the rules, I know." You level her a cold gaze, "and I said no. I'm not going to do it. Accept it, this timeline's dead and  _we're_  just not meant to be the ones to win the game."

  
  
The fact that she has to blink a couple of times, words working themselves out in her brain is somewhat infuriating. What part of  _no_  doesn't she get?

  
  
        "You're joking right?"

  
        "Sure, whatever makes you happy, sweetie." Let it never be said that you have complained when people have called you an asshole.

  
  
        "I... Okay," She lets out a small laugh, like this whole situation is a joke and you can't help but raise an eyebrow. Like if she doesn't laugh she might cry. "It seems to me that you're dealing with some rough things right now... um, with your friend _Merka-"_

  
  
_"- **Karkat** -"_

  
  
_"- **Karkat** , _and therefore are unable to give a clear, sane answer. So we'll wait until Dylan gets back. Alright? He's hopping through timelines, maybe he can tell you what to change, what to bend so we don't end up with a failed timeline."

  
  
_Except that Dylan's not coming back_ , you bite that back.

  
  
You guys could always Scratch the session, but since no one has offered that idea yet, you are not the one that'll be putting the option on the table. They're still trying to leave the Scratch for last. They're a bunch of hopeful and stubborn fools, surely they must realize that by this point there needs to be a Scratch, otherwise they'll be stuck here doing absolutely nothing.

  
  
When the leader keeps on talking and talking you can't help but sigh and roll your eyes.

  
  
        "Okay, look. It's one thing  _bending_  rules and sometimes breaking them. It's another different thing to take shortcuts, which as far as I'm aware of, is the most essential way to fuck up. Or have you forgotten the incidents involving taking advice from our Future selves?" You deadpan.

  
  
        "Yes but I-"

  
  
        "Look, let's wait for Dylan, if it comes down to it I'll try and do something, but in all honesty, we can't do shit without our Time player. So chill out, tell the others to get their sticks out of out their asses and  _relax_." 

  
  
And relax is exactly what they  _don't_  do.  


### 

 

  
  
You're not really sure if the punch was satisfying in the least. The troll — who,  _whoops!_  is definitely not Karkat — is sort of standing there, in any other occasion, the look on his face would have had you laughing your ass off. It's the sort of look that's crossed between him being shocked and looking like someone had drove a stick up his butt, which as far as you're aware, he probably does have one. He's not bleeding, despite the fact that you know, you  _heard_ bones when your fist landed on his nose.

  
  
Your hand on the other side... well, it hurts.

  
  
But because you're a grown person and not a kid, you suck it up. There's no need to show the troll that your hand is throbbing and will probably feel like hell later on in the day — day? — because if you punched him, then it means you're strong. Strong people don't hold their hands in pain and whimper and they certainly do not fear trolls.

  
Troll, singular. Who's doing the funniest thing with his mouth, sorta of like angry dogs do. His lips are tugging upward, in an angry sort of manner you're pretty sure you're not able to do, which reveal a whole lot of teeth. Sharp teeth, and are those fangs? Those look like fangs. He's walking forward, right.

  
        "What? don't tell me that bothered you." And because you can't keep your mouth shut, you speak. The troll —  _not Karkat_ , despite the fact that he does bear a somewhat resemblance to him — scoffs.

  
  
        "Oh no. I absolutely _adore_  getting punched by strangers." Not-Karkat sneers.

  
  
        "Hmm, good to know. Is that a kink of yours or?" 

 

His face does the funniest little thing, and if it isn't tempting in the least then you don't know what is. It's only natural that you want to keep pushing. So you do. "I mean, I don't kink-shame, if you're worried about that."

  
Not-Karkat opens his mouth about to say something, and then snaps it shut. His brows furrow slightly and then he stands there, silently looking at you. His eyes remain on your face and from your distance — which is, not far away from him — you can see the slightest movement of his eyes, inky white, lost easily amongst his sclera. 

  
  
That's something that you don't get. Karkat had yellow-bordering-on-orange scleras, and from what he's told you all trolls do. Although, Karkat has a tendency to lie about certain things, such as his blood color, so maybe it's just a Karkat thing. Because ever since you woke up in this weird place — maybe the effects of whatever the loving fuck your teammates did back then — all the trolls you have encountered have had white scleras and irises, as well as pupils. 

  
You're snapped out of your thoughts when you hear muttering. You focus your attention on Not-Karkat once more and notice that he's still looking at you, although he looks less tense — less like he wants to jump you and maybe tear of your neck with those sharp canines of his — and more like cautious.

   
  
You catch some words, he's mumbling. Something like  _'-ose type of people'_  and _'-ot going to get involved, I don't need another-'_

 _  
  
_ You take a step forward and he looks at you, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?"

  
  
        "You didn't answer me." You say.

  
        "Answer you? I-" when realization crosses his face, he frowns and there's something akin to annoyance in his expression. "I don't think it's wise to have a conversation with you anymore."

  
  
He turns around and walks away. You let him, because as far as introductions go, this has been one where you haven't been called out on your behaviour. Plus, you were doing something before Kurloz arrived and Not-Karkat decided to butt in. 

  
  
Thing is, you're not really sure what exactly it was that you were doing.  
  


### 

 

  
  
        "You're wearing sunglasses." Is what he says.

  
  
        "Hmm." You don't tear your eyes away from the scene. The shade is nice, there are pink leafs scattered around you. There is also a troll with a horse's body and a tiny — well, compared to the horse-troll's height she's tiny — troll with a rusty-red skirt too short for her, yelling at him. It doesn't sound like any language you've ever heard. They make quite a show.

  
  
When the troll says something to the other troll — the one with the bull horns to the one with the ram-like horns — that you really don't care about, you finally look at Not-Karkat and notice that he's sitting right next to you. You frown.

  
  
        "What are you doing?" It's the first thing that comes out of your mouth, instead of  _'how's your nose?'_  and not because you actually care, otherwise you would've apologized back then, but because your hand stopped hurting minutes after he left. Godtier powers don't bother with small things like those.

  
  
        "Sitting down, I presume." He snorts and then leans back on the tree's trunk. Your trunk. Your mouth tugs downward, but you don't say anything. Okay, okay. You can share.

  
  
You're frankly not sure what to do now. Because you've approached Not-Karkat before a couple of times after the punch, but despite talking to him, he didn't seem to remember who you are. So you often left it at that. It didn't occur to you how weird it was that sometimes there were copies of the same troll or some teammate of yours or even yours, in the same place at times. It was definitely odd, but it's SBURB. And because you still haven't gotten around to remembering what exactly made this  _place_ you've simply decided to fault everything to your teammate's stupidity.

  
  
In front of you, the girl troll shouts something to the other one and then storms away. Well, so much for that.

  
        "It's considered rude to watch other people's private memories, you know." He chides when he watches you groan and mutter about the lack of entertainment. You roll your eyes.

  
  
        "Do I look like I give a flying fuck?" You click your tongue, "'Sides, there's nothing entertaining here to do."

  
  
        "Tsk, such a filthy mouth." Not-Karkat brings his legs up to his chest, and wraps his arms around them. You watch as he lays his head atop his knees and then faces you. "Cursing triggers people."

  
  
You can't help it, your mouth quirks upward. "Is that so?"

  
  
Not-Karkat blinks.

  
        "Hey, so I've been meaning to ask  _you_." Because this is the Not-Karkat you've been hoping to stumble into, "what's up with all of the copies?"

  
  
His brow furrow, "Copies?"

  
  
You nod, and then bite your lip. [Eye colour] orbs scan around the area and when you spot another you — and if it doesn't set you on edge — and point at them, "Yeah, see. Another me."

  
  
His attention shifts towards the spot where you're pointing at and then he opens his mouth, lets out a little  _'ah'_  and then turns to look at you. "They're not copies. More like alternate-selves." He looks at you weirdly, "I thought you knew. Since you're here and well, looking quite-"

  
  
        "Do you know who Karkat is?" You cut him off, something about his tone making you feel angry. It's not because you were dreading to hear what he was about to say.

  
  
Not-Karkat keeps on looking at you weird, and you decide to ignore that look. "Yes, my dancestor. I do quite believe he's the one responsible for your ill-intentions towards me when we first met." 

  
  
If his voice takes a somewhat sour tone, you completely ignore it.  _Dancestor_ , heh, what a funny word.

  
  
        "Yes," he lets a small smile tug at his lips, "Porrim came up with the name when we first encountered our descendants."

  
  
You nod, although still not sure why the 'dance' part in the word. You don't comment on it, instead closing your eyes.

  
  
        "Karkat's an asshole." You mutter. Because he is. 

  
  
Even without opening your eyes, you can definitely tell that Not-Karkat is frowning. "Asshole is a harsh word is it not? I know he's somewhat difficult, but not prone to making others hate him at a first impression." He stops, as if thinking his words over, "you have history with him don't you?"

  
  
You can't help it, you scoff. If it sounds bitter then, Not-Karkat doesn't comment on it. "If you can call it that." You run a hand through your hair, careful to not move the sunglasses, "We kind of talked a lot? And then he just stopped completely, I think he freaked out. I made some bad decisions, under-pressure actually. He wasn't there when I- when they..."

  
  
You swallow and it feels like there's something heavy stuck in your throat. "Point is. When I needed him the most he vanished." You let yourself snicker mentally, you doubt Not-Karkat would get the reference anyways.

  
  
        "What happened?"

  
  
        "Stuff." You say.

  
Not-Karkat doesn't say anything else. So you don't either.  
  


### 

 

  
  
Once, you could say with certainty that you know what you were doing. That was then, when your team was still complete. It's so hard to do so when the voices keep on speaking and urging and  _demanding_  — back, when you could still call your mind your own. You would've described the action as something akin to snakes and things that shouldn't be, crawling deep into your brain and poisoning you. As easily as paint deludes in water and mixes, no longer being able to go back to what it originally was. Clean and pure and perfect — in a language not fit to be spoken by human vocal chords.

  
  
It was raw and agonizing and dripping slowly like venom and little by little your vision would cloud. At one point, when you could claim to love swimming in something that wasn't  _right_  but not quite wrong, you decided that red — dark, dark red, bloody and precious — was a lovely color splattered on your dark-gray skin.  
  


### 

 

  
  
The water feels nice. It's cold, but not overbearingly so. It's not as cold as the depths of the pools of blackness in which the outer gods reside. You've never been physically there, yet you know how that feels like. Your breathing is even, contrary to what it was a couple of minutes ago. 

  
  
When you feel the water start to move in tiny waves and you hear the sound of water sloshing around, you know that your sunglasses are drifting far away. There's a shadow that blocks out the sun now, and you open your eyes. Inky-white, just like yours, stare back at you.

  
  
        "I'm dead." Is what you say and Not-Karkat nods. 

  
  
        "I'm dead." You repeat, because.

  
  
        "You were panicking back there, are you okay?" He says and you shake your head, a bit of water gets in your eyes and you sit up, the water reaches somewhere around your chest. Your godtier pajamas are completely soaked, and you don't care. Not-Karkat mimics your pose, his red sweater takes a darker tone underneath the water.

  
  
So now the two of you are sitting down in the beach with water up to your chests and looking at each other. You feel like you're have a mid-life crisis. Except that you're barely over [age] years old, and you shouldn't be freaking out over life. 

  
  
Or the life you used to have.

  
  
        "No." You asnwer his question.

  
  
        "Not to sound like a jerk, but everyone around here knows that if you end up in dreambubbles, you're dead. Or at least, if you possess completely white eyes." He makes a motion with his hands.

  
  
        "Yeah. I sorta realized that when I met another me. White eyes, that's fucking disturbing. Can you imagine looking at yourself and just feeling like there's something extremely wrong?" Hence the glasses, your eyes trail off to the side. You can no longer see them. "I was in denial, actually. I didn't want to die."

  
  
        "No one wants to."

  
        "How did you?" You ask, genuinely curious now. 

  
  
Not-Karkat seems to hesitate a bit but in the end, answers nonetheless. "A teammate, she basically blew us all up. I sincerely do not know what was going through that thinkpan of hers." He sighs.

  
  
        "At least you didn't die alone." You say. Not-karkat sniffs.

  
  
The silence stretches for a while, silently deciding that it's good. The silence. You hate noises.

  
  
        "I... I was pressured by my teammates to make some stupids choices. I'm... was, a Witch of Doom, pretty fucking powerful too. Our session was bound to fail and because they feared the Scratch, they looked for other ways. They didn't care what they had to do. Most of them weren't even godtier, and followed our future-selves advice. Dead." You begin, and laugh a little. It's somewhat funny. They're all idiots.

  
  
        "Anyways... I got tired of their begging, so I did some stupid choices, of which consisted of talking to the outer gods. Freaky bunch, I hate them. That's around the time Karkat stopped talking to me." You let a bitter smile draw itself upon your face. "I killed most of my team."

  
  
        "Do you regret it?" Not-Karkat asks, and heh. What a funny question.

  
  
        "Honestly? I don't." You shrug, "I was conscious of my actions, and it was... fun? Well, not really. Just liberating. It's weird to describe what it feels like actually... it doesn't matter. I got killed, I can't remember who did it. But one of those ungrateful bastards killed me, and look at that. It was a Just Death, otherwise I'd still be kicking. I just wanted to talk to Karkat one last time and he bailed out on me."

  
  
You sigh and look at him. His face doesn't show if he feels uncomfortable with what you're saying. You know other people would. 

  
  
        "That's why when I woke up here, I tried to ignore everything. I knew I was dead, long before awakening. I just didn't want to admit to myself that I no longer had power. Got the sunglasses after I couldn't stop staring at my eyes." You don't tell him that it's because the pools of white reminded you a little bit too close to your grimdark state.

  
  
        "So the first you settled to do was to punch Karkat when you found him." Not-Karkat raises an eyebrow, and you can't tell if he feels amused or unsettled by your thinking process. You don't deny it.

  
  
        "You know what, I don't even know your name." You tell him, because you can't keep calling him Not-Karkat, "Name's [First Name]."

  
  
        "Kankri Vantas." He says and you blink.

  
        "Kankri Vantas?" You try to say his name and that earns from him a muffled chuckle. 

  
  
        " _Kankri_ ," He says, enunciating the name slowly. It sounds weird, somehow the name seems to have this sort of accent to it that you can't replicate. You leave it off to alien things.

  
  
And isn't that just the weirdest things?  _Aliens_. Like actual aliens, with gray skin and horns and blood that comes in a wide variety of colors. It's so weird. That and the fact that you caused the end of the world, played a game which basically made you a god —  _would've_  made you a real god! You were going to be responsible of making a new universe — and just went in this amazing adventure. And now you're dead. And it's not like you don't appreciate or didn't enjoy the time you spent alive.

  
  
It's just that you hadn't done a lot of things. And now you're dead, and you're pretty sure you won't be able to do them with the same gusto as you would've done so when alive. There's a particular something though...

  
  
        "Hey Kankri?"

  
  
        "hmm."

  
  
        "Kiss me?"

  
Before you dive underwater, you hear Kankri choke on air. You let yourself smile a bit before you resurface, hair sticking to your face. You move it out of the way and turn to look at Kankri — the water isn't salty, doesn't even feel like water — who has a nice flush on his face.

  
  
        "Excuse me?"

  
  
        "I... I never got to kiss anyone when I was alive. I guess it's just something that's bothering me. Pretty stupid thing though," you sigh, "I don't do romantic relationships, they're sorta not my thing."

  
  
Kankri remains silent, and the action makes your throath closed up. Suddenly it's somewhat difficult to breathe.

  
  
        "Nervemind, forget I even mentioned it." You let out a weak laugh, suddenly feeling like there's a huge weight on your shoulders. Because you're dead. Will remain dead. God, this is nervewrecking.

  
  
You're not even aware of moving towards the shore up until Kankri grabs your wrist. You turn to look at him and notice that his eyes seem to show everything that he's not saying. He's conflicted, and your lips thin out.

  
  
        " _What?_ " You snap, because all he does is stare at you. Maybe he's going to make fun of you? You totally deserve it, since you punched him back then.

  
  
Finally, Kankri blinks and his gaze lowers to your lips. "Are you positive you will not be feeling red for me if I were to ah, kiss you?" 

  
  
You blink, and your mouth forms the letter 'o' which you then exhale into actual words, " _Oh._ "

  
  
Oh, indeed. He's not going to make fun of you, he's just scared that you'll look more into the kiss, that you'll develop feelings for him.

  
  
Kankri's fingers are twitching — the ones belonging to the hand that is not wrapped around your wrist, warmer than your own hands, despite being wet — in what seems a nervous tic. You file that way for later.

  
  
        "Yeah, I am." You say, voice low. He takes a step forward, and the water ripples. "Nothing will change."

  
  
His lips tug upwards at a corner, his own personal little joke, it's bitter. "Funny, I told someone else the exact same thing."

  
  
He says, yet doesn't stop closing in. Doesn't hesitate when he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. It's the sort of position that you don't like but you don't tell him anything afraid that he'll back down. The wrist he holds with his hand is stuck in between your chests and despite being almost the same height as him, you still have to tilt your head upwards slitghly.

  
  
        "Hmm." You say and he closes in.   



End file.
